Dead Is The New Alive
by 13teen
Summary: It's over. This was the end. This wasn't some game where you died and were able to reload your last checkpoint. No, this was real. This was happening. People were dropping like flies, and coming back . . . Daryl & OC. Slow Burn.


**_Okay! So this is my first ever FanFiction of The Walking Dead. I'm excited! This will be based on the events of the show in some areas, and in others I'll be doing my own thing.  
__Be warned this is a slow burning Daryl/OC fic. It will defiantly NOT be one of those stories where Daryl just takes his pants off and has his way with any damsel he finds. Mainly because I feel that Daryl has too many issues.  
__Another thing is that my Original Character is going to have faults, and some of those faults will be annoying. She won't be perfect.  
__Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy this story!_**

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_"People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they go right . . ."  
- Marilyn Monroe._

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**Prologue**

**Chapter Quote: "This was a monster; one of the beings her father said didn't exist."**

_Almost home._

She thought as exhaustion was slowly catching up to her. She hardly slept a wink last night. The news reports would fill her thoughts every time she closed her eyes; the reporter's words echoing around in her mind, images flashing behind closed lids.

The reporters say it's under control, but the live broadcasts and army tanks told a different story. She was terrified; scared out of her wits by this unknown disease. Her mother even went as far as calling it a plague. The blonde hugged herself tightly at the thought as a cold wind blew through her. The soft whooshing was the only sound she could hear in the always too loud street.

Quiet.

It was too quiet. Almost deafening.

Thin blonde eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

The streets were bare. It was well past three in the afternoon. Kids should be filling the streets. Squeals of laughter should be heard. It was like she was walking through a ghost town.

Slowly she dragged her feet closer to her home, passing by white wooded house after white wooded house as she drew closer, and closer to home. It stood silently in the noiseless street, somehow managing to look daunting in all it's two story white wooded glory.

The door was ajar; creaking back and forth in the gentle cold wind. Her frown only deepened. She was so close to turning around and high tailing it out of there.

But she couldn't. Not with knowing that her baby sister and mother were possibly still inside. Thoughts swirled around in her mind of a robbery. A horrible murder?

_No. Stop it._

_You've been watching too many damn horror movies._

Stepping up and onto the porch, she held her breath soundlessly counted to three before exhaling as quietly as she could, pushing the door wide open; wincing when it creaked long and low.

_The blonde always dies first._

Stepping over the threshold she prayed to whoever was listening that her mother and sister were safe and sound, and merely forgot to close the door properly.

"Mum?" The girl whispered fiercely as she tip-toed through the front door and down the hallway, into the living room; cringing whenever she stepped on an overly loud floor board.

Nothing was out of place.

Everything was as it should be.

Cautiously making her way towards the kitchen as soundlessly as she could, once again holding her breath while pushing the swinging door open ever-so-slowly.

She froze when she saw the pools of blood that spotted the ground. Eyes dragging their way upwards and towards the figure that stood in front of the sink; back turned to the frightened twenty-two year old.

Her mother stood before her. Hair mattered and clothes bloodied. Her head moving at odd angels; twitching this way and that way.

"Mum?" The girl spoke hoarsely, her Australian accent growing thicker the more nervous she got. She swallowed hard trying to get rid of the lump that managed to get stuck in her throat.

A gurgling sound escaped from her mother before she slowly turned towards the timid voice of her daughter. And there she stood covered in blood with a gaping wound at the base of her neck, eyes glassy and rolled back into her skull with blood covered lips; the liquid dripping down her chin and onto her ripped green blouse.

The limp body she saw in her mother's arms caught her attention next.

She choked on the sob that tried to tear through her lips; blinking back tears, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

Her baby sister, no more than six months old lay unmoving and silent; face too disfigured to recognise, but she'd know that pink and purple jumpsuit anywhere because she was the one who bought it.

Her mother dropped her dead sisters body and shambled towards the distraught young woman. Screaming, the blonde made a mad dive for the counter slamming her body into the dark wood, reaching out towards the knife block and grasping the first one she touched. Her mother followed after her; snapping her teeth as she did so.

No, this wasn't her mother.

This was a monster; one of the beings her father said didn't exist.

Her mother would of never have done any of this. Done _that_ to Charlotte.

She glanced over to her baby sister sprawled out on the floor.

_**Get your head together girly.**_

The groaning of the creature brought her back to reality. Seizing the knife she still had a firm grip on she pulled it from the knife block and plunged it into the grotesque creature's stomach. Satisfied when it cut through the thing like a hot knife through butter.

But it kept coming at her. She hauled it from the undead fucker's body.

_Why won't it die? _

The thing reached its decaying arms out towards her, its fists grabbing at thin air as it tried to draw her closer to it, trying to get a bite out of her.

Out of fear she plunged the knife into the creatures left eye. Pulling it out quickly and striking behind its ear and into its skull.

She let the creature sag to the ground, the knife still protruding from its head, blood that was too dark to be natural poured from its wounds.

_It was _too_ easy._

And then she chucked.

The contents of her stomach spilled itself onto the once clean tiled floor. Falling to her knees she continued you empty her stomach until she began to dry heave as the smell of decay hit her nose. She needed to get out.

She crawled away from the scene on hands and knees. Body shaking as sobs wracked through her and tried to push through her lips. She had to be quiet.

_**Toughen up sweetheart. **_

She could hear her father's voice in her head and almost laughed; that's exactly what he'd say.

_**Cryin' won't get you nowhere.**_

No, it wouldn't.

She pulled herself to her feet, using the wall for support. Something caught her eye from outside the kitchen window. A man was hobbling around out in the backyard with his clothes tattered and arms limp at his sides. He was walking around harmlessly, but there was no way in hell she was going to go outside and try to ask him what was happening. She got the feeling that he was in no state to answer questions.

_**Get your shit together Fred, and remember what I taught ya'.**_

She breathed in deeply and turned away from the awkward walking man.

_I can do this._

As quickly and quietly as possible she made her way through the house and up the stairs; flinching every time the floorboards decided to make a sound underneath her weight. The third door on the right was her room, the blue door stating as such.

She was cautious as she opened the door; fearful that another one of those things would come launching itself at her.

_Should've kept the knife._

But nothing was there. Her room was exactly how she left it; spotless. Otherwise her father would have pitched a fit.

_Dad._

Her father was a part of the Military, one of the guys who were supposed to be helping with this . . . disease? Infection?

She hadn't heard from him in three days.

_**Breathe, ankle biter.**_

She spotted the back pack that sat on the chair in the corner. Grabbing her handbag and making her way over to it and dumping its contents onto her bed before turning to her wardrobe and grabbing a few changes of clothes. She stripped the bloodied white sundress from her body and tugged on her worn jeans that lay in a pile on the ground as she looked around her room making a mental check list. She snatched a white singlet and quickly dressed before ripping the sandals off her feet and shoving her feet into the hiking boots her father got her last year for Christmas.

Moving too quickly she nudged the photo frame that sat on her desk and let it fall to the floor with a grimace.

She frowned when she bent to pick it up, the glass was smashed. The photo was a family photo; it was of the day Charlotte was born. Her father was even there that day. Tears prickled at her eyes as she tried to blink them back.

_You can cry later, Fred._

Turning the frame over with shaky hands she pulled the photo out of the frame before folding it and shoving it into her back pocket.

_**Get your shit together, Fred.**_

Right.

The basement.

_Where daddy kept his guns…_

She grabbed the baseball bat that lay underneath the double bed before standing once more, and pulled her small but sizable pack on. She tried to breathe evenly; trying so hard not to let the panic consume and overwhelm her.

_Breathe._

She kept repeating the word like it was a prayer as she made her way down the stairs her only weapon being the glossy wooden bat she held firmly with both hands. She felt like she was playing a game. Something she'd watch her friends play as she rolled her eyes at them while they screamed profanities at the television when they died; knowing that they'd be able to start again. But this wasn't a game. This was real, no matter how much she wished that this was a bad dream, she knew that this was really happening.

She wasn't going to wake up; not today, not next week.

This was _real_.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and took in a shaky breath before heading down the hallway and towards the basement door. Opening the door slowly, she waited with baited breath for any movement, but there was nothing but stillness.

Determining that it was safe, she flicked on the switch and made her way swiftly down into the small dingy hole in the ground. That was when she heard the canine whine coming from the other side of the cramped room full of shelves that were arranged in rows and stacked neatly with canned food and tools.

"Tobbie?" She called softly.

A small bark answered her call. She let out a deep sigh. She wasn't alone, not entirely. She had Tobbie.

As she turned the corner she found the German Shepherd sitting beside her father's work bench. Her first and only animal. Tobbie was large and mostly black in colour with a few patches of caramel.

Not to mention he was well trained.

_Daddy wouldn't let me keep him otherwise._

"C'mere." Fred patted her thigh and the dog came bounding towards her; tail wagging, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "That's a good boy."

Why the hell was he down in the basement?

_Did mum put you here?_

She frowned down at the dog.

"Let's find those guns."

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_Tell me what you think. Reviews keep me going._

_-13teen xx_


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